


Soon to Be Dust

by menel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Ending, Apocalypse, Episode Tag, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-31
Updated: 2012-05-31
Packaged: 2017-11-06 09:32:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/417352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sam and Dean say ‘yes’ to Lucifer and Michael, respectively, the archangels meet for the final battle at Stull Cemetery. But the final showdown proves to be more than either archangel bargained for as they traverse the psychological landscapes of Heaven, Hell and the memories of Sam and Dean. Will Lucifer and Michael bring about the end of days, or will Sam and Dean find a way to stop the apocalypse?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Battle in Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the 2011 [SPN_Reversebang Challenge](http://spn-reversebang.livejournal.com) and originally posted on December 9, 2011. I was inspired by the lovely art of [Mashimero](http://mashimero.livejournal.com). Please check it out here: [Art Master List](http://mashimero.livejournal.com/171379.html). 
> 
> Special thanks go to [Metaallu](http://metaallu.livejournal.com) for the lightning speed beta job during the busiest time of the year.

Banner by [Mashimero](http://mashimero.livejournal.com).

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v300/ciel_en_rouge/Supernatural%20Artwork/?action=view&current=SoonToBeDustBanner.jpg)

**Prologue**    
  
“What are you doing here, Dean? You are no longer needed.”  
  
Michael’s tone was dismissive, his look imperious. Dean was jarred by the sight of his younger half-brother. Everything about him was so different from the uncertain teenager that he had met a few weeks ago. This Adam was confident, graceful, possessed of a power that could destroy the world. Adam had been raised from the dead for this single purpose – to be Michael’s vessel – because Dean had refused. Those goddamn holy warriors. They fought just as dirty as the demons. Maybe even dirtier. The glint Dean saw in Adam’s – no, Michael’s eye – just then told him that the archangel had probably read his mind. Devious bastards. Anger overshadowed the fear that Dean felt at that moment and he stepped towards the archangel, his hands balled into fists by his side.  
  
“I am your true vessel,” he stated evenly.  
  
“And as I said before,” Michael repeated even more derisively. “You are no longer needed.”  
  
“Take me,” Dean persisted. “Leave Adam out of this.”  
  
It was Michael’s turn to step forward. This human intrigued him and his voice softened a little as he spoke.  
  
“It’s too late for that.”  
  
Dean shook his head. Adam was slightly shorter than him and although he found himself looking down to meet the gaze of his half-brother, he could feel the archangel’s power radiating from Adam’s form, surrounding and enveloping him. It made Dean **want** to surrender and he struggled to find the words that he wanted to say.  
  
“In the future that your flunky, Zachariah showed me, Lucifer had won,” Dean began. “And Gabriel? He once told me that in every possible outcome, Sam would say ‘yes’ to Lucifer. I didn’t want to believe him. But you know what? He was right.” Dean took another step forward, bridging what little space was left between them. “Gabe also told me that in every possible outcome I would say ‘yes’ too late. You know what? He was wrong. I’m saying ‘yes’ now.”  
  
Michael’s gaze was piercing. The glint Dean had seen before had grown into something more. What was it? Amusement? Was the archangel mocking him? It wouldn’t have been the first time.  
  
“No, Dean,” Michael said. “I’m not mocking you.” He lifted his right hand and Dean involuntarily leaned backwards as though expecting a blow. Instead, Michael ran two fingers down the side of Dean’s face until they rested underneath his chin. “Gabriel was very fond of you, wasn’t he? Castiel even more so. I can see why my brothers like you so much. Even Lucifer.”  
  
“Take me,” Dean repeated, his jaw clenched against the tenderness of Michael’s touch. “Take me and you will win this war.”  
  
“As you wish,” Michael said, pressing his lips against Dean’s.  
  


* * * * *

Lucifer stood in the middle of a clearing in Stull Cemetery awaiting his brother. In his right hand, he held a mound of cemetery earth. He looked down as he opened his hand, spreading his fingers and watching as the breeze blew away the fine soil and the rest slipped through his fingers.

Soon to be dust, he thought. His Father’s most beautiful creation would be purified, purged of the infection that was slowly killing it. But first, he would have to defeat Michael.

A flash of light out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and Lucifer looked up. Michael was here. He could see his brother’s form near the edge of the cemetery. He felt his brother’s presence. Right on time. Michael had always been a stickler for that. He straightened and watched as Michael walked towards him. Michael stopped ten feet away and Lucifer couldn’t help but eye his brother up and down. This was an unexpected development.

“You seem surprised.”

Michael was the first to break the silence.

Lucifer smiled. “Pleasantly so,” he agreed. He nodded towards his brother’s vessel. “How’d you do it?” he asked. “I never doubted that Sam would say ‘yes,’ but Dean? He brings a whole new definition to the word ‘stubborn.’”

Michael shrugged. It was a gesture that was uncharacteristic of him, but in Dean’s form it looked natural.

“In the end, Dean came to me,” Michael explained. “It wasn’t that hard at all.”

“I guess the brothers finally understood the roles they had to play,” Lucifer observed.

“I guess they did,” Michael agreed.

They fell into silence.

“Shall we begin?” Michael inquired politely after a while.

Lucifer cocked his head to the right. “Why not?”

Michael lunged forward then, a flaming sword in his right hand. Lucifer remembered this too – how quick his older brother had always been in battle. He barely had enough time to dodge the blow and as he spun away, his own sword materialized in his hand. They circled each other for a few steps and then the fight began in earnest. Overhead the sky darkened. As their battle grew fiercer, the wind roared, whipping the trees of the wood beside the cemetery. No rain fell, but thunder rumbled and lightning split the sky. The ground trembled with every step the archangels took. In the distance two twisters were forming, their black swirling forms making their way towards the battleground.

Lucifer paused and watched the twisters approach. He sensed rather than saw Michael do the same. His brother was so powerful. He knew that on strength alone he would eventually lose this fight. It had happened before. But he was the cunning one. There was more than one way to win this battle.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Lucifer yelled over the roar of the wind.

“There is only one way this can end,” Michael yelled back. “With your defeat.”

Lucifer sheathed his sword and walked towards his brother. Michael did not back down. His stance was ready to fight; his magnificent sword glowed with an unearthly light in his hand.

“I do not want to fight you, brother,” Lucifer said. “I love you. I have always loved you.”

“And I you,” Michael replied. “More than any of our other kin. It is you who broke my heart.”

“Then join me,” Lucifer said earnestly. “Join me and let me make it whole again. Together we could rule heaven and earth. No one could stop us.”

Lucifer felt the tip of Michael’s sword at his throat.

“One more step,” Michael said. “And you will walk into my sword.”

“Join me,” Lucifer repeated, leaning in so that Michael’s sword drew blood. “So we can end this.”

“You break my heart again, brother,” Michael said sadly.

Lucifer’s vision went white and a searing pain filled his chest. Then he was falling, falling, his left hand gripping tightly Dean Winchester’s worn leather jacket.

* * * * *

Lucifer woke up to a perfectly black sky. He gazed at the jet-black silkiness of the dome above him and knew that there was only one place he could be. Beneath him the ground was cool and slightly damp. The grass glistened a periwinkle phosphorescent hue, and the foliage around glowed with the same shade. It was the only light source in the blackness. 

Lucifer turned his head to the right. Michael sat beside him. His brother was relaxed, arms resting on his drawn up knees. He too was gazing at the starless sky. Lucifer watched him for a moment before propping himself up on his right elbow. His body protested at the effort. He grimaced as he forced himself into a sitting position. He could feel Michael watching him.

“What did you do to me?” he asked. He felt weak here. Diminished. Drained of his power.

“I brought you home,” Michael answered simply.

“Father banished me from here,” Lucifer said. “And you cast me into exile in Hell.” He could hear the accusation seep into his tone.

“That explains why it was so hard to bring you back,” Michael said. “And why it hurt so much. Father likes his edicts.”

“You’ve just broken one of them,” Lucifer pointed out. “Thought you were Daddy’s Little Soldier.” There was a hint of humor in his voice now to soften the verbal jab.

Michael met his gaze. “I am,” he said evenly. Then the planes of his features softened in the periwinkle light as he added, “Think of this as a time out.”

Michael almost never joked and Lucifer gave a faint half-smile at his brother’s gesture.

“You belong here,” Michael went on, all levity gone from his voice. “This is your home. Repent. That is all Father wants. Ask for forgiveness and come home.”

Lucifer turned away. He couldn’t bear to look at Michael, to hear his brother’s words. There was a part of him that wanted to believe Michael; that wanted to come home. Already the sound of his brothers and sisters was beginning to reach him. Since his Fall, he had been cut off from the voices of his brethren. Even now the Song was a dim echo of what he remembered, but he could hear fragments. He knew that being in Heaven and so near to Heaven’s Prince was allowing him that small measure of grace. There was such peace and tranquility here after millennia of suffering and death, of being trapped in the Cage. But most of all, Michael was here. Michael was home.

“You are still so beautiful,” Michael whispered, reaching out to touch his brother but Lucifer caught his wrist in mid-air.

“Do you know what I remember of home?” Lucifer whispered into his brother’s ear. “I remember that Heaven is what you make of it. I remember bending it to my will. Let me show you.”

Lucifer could feel his strength slowly returning as he sat in the midnight clearing with his brother. He gathered what he had of it now and held Michael’s wrist firmly. Pride would not allow him to accept Michael’s offer, not after he had forged his own kingdom in Hell. But Michael had shown his hand. His love for Lucifer had always been his weakness and now Lucifer would use it to his advantage.

* * * * *

Michael was standing in a bedroom, a teenager’s bedroom by the looks of it. It was a strange place to be after the beauty of the field. 

“Do you know where we are?” Lucifer’s voice was beside him.

Michael should never have underestimated Lucifer’s power. Diminished as his brother had been by the journey to Heaven, he had regained enough strength to navigate Heaven’s malleable pathways.

“Your vessel is still new to you,” Lucifer continued. “You’ve not had the time to probe Dean’s memories as I have Sam’s.”

So, the room was related to the Winchesters. Michael should have guessed that Lucifer would be up to his old mind games. His brother may not have been at his full strength in Heaven, but that did not mean that his intellect was diminished. Michael probed the recesses of Dean’s memories for this room. Something significant must have happened here, something that Lucifer would try to use against him.

“This is Sam’s old bedroom,” Michael said aloud. “When he was fifteen.”

“Good. And do you know what happened here?”

Michael probed some more, but the memory was locked away tight. Secretly, the archangel was impressed with Dean’s resilience. The hunter should have been an open book to him, but even now Dean would not let go of his secrets without a fight.

“This is where Sam had his first kiss,” Lucifer said.

Michael glanced at Lucifer sharply. His brother was by Sam’s bed, idly running his fingers along the dark green bedspread. Lucifer was not the sentimental sort. Why would Sam’s first kiss interest him?

“Sam was disheartened,” Lucifer went on. “Fifteen and never been kissed. Didn’t have much luck with the girls. He was too shy. He thought he was lagging behind, especially since his brother was already the conquistador.” He sat down on the bed and looked at Michael. “One day, he told Dean all this because they didn’t have any secrets from each other and Dean said –”

“Don’t worry, Sammy,” Michael continued, cutting Lucifer off. “Kissing is no big deal. It’ll happen when it happens.”

* * * * *

“But what if it doesn’t?” Sam persisted. “What if I grow old and never get kissed? What if I die a virgin?” 

Dean nearly burst out laughing at the horror he heard in Sam’s voice, but he somehow restrained himself. Sam was genuinely upset and laughing at him now would only make things worse.

“You’re not going to die a virgin,” he said, sitting beside his brother on the bed. “Nobody dies a virgin,” he added. Dean thought about this for a moment. “Well, except for nuns and priests, but even then . . .” he trailed off. Sam wasn’t interested in nuns and priests. “Trust me on this,” he said in his best self-assured, big brother voice.

“What if I’m terrible?” Sam went on.

“At what?”

“Kissing.”

Dean shrugged. “It just takes practice.”

“And who am I gonna practice with if nobody wants to kiss me?”

“You practice with yourself.”

“Huh?”

Dean held up his left hand, which was balled into a fist. “You practice with your hand.”

“That’s stupid.”

“It’s what the girls do.”

“Are you saying I’m a girl?”

“You’re acting like one, whining about never being kissed. That’s stupid.”

“Did **you** ever practice with your hand?” Dean’s silence was all the answer Sam needed. “Thought so.” He sighed. “I should practice with somebody who has experience. Then they could teach me what do to. Somebody . . . like you.”

Dean felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. There was something in the overly casual way that Sam had said those last three words – “Somebody . . . like you” – that put him on edge. He got the sense that somehow his sneaky younger brother had been leading up to this point all along and his mouth grew dry at the thought. Because the truth was kissing was something he would dearly love to teach Sam but he couldn’t let his brother know that. Dean looked at Sam then and said sternly, “That’s not something I can teach you.”

“Why not?”

Sam’s voice was all youthful innocence and wonder but Dean didn’t buy it for a moment.

“Because that’s not what brothers do,” Dean said quietly.

“You’ve taught me nearly everything I know,” Sam went on. “From how to ride a bike to how to clean a 9mm. What makes this any different?”

Dean’s resolve was weakening. He knew that Sam knew it too. There was nothing that Dean could deny his brother. “Damnit, Sammy,” he hissed in frustration.

“Please Dean,” Sam persisted. “Just this once. I’ll never mention it again.”

* * * * *

“And so Dean kissed him,” Lucifer finished. “Right here on this bed.” He patted the empty space beside him as though inviting Michael to sit, but Michael remained standing in front of him. He smiled disarmingly. “That first forbidden kiss,” he stated. “Surely you knew that the Winchesters were always more than just brothers?” 

Michael hadn’t known, but he had suspected. He had felt Dean’s overwhelming love for Sam the moment he had possessed him. He knew that in some twisted way Dean believed that by saying ‘yes’ to Michael, he would be able to save his brother. It was a lost cause. Neither Sam nor Lucifer could be saved. Michael understood that now. He had made his offer and Lucifer had rejected it.

And yet, in this bedroom, brimming with hope and danger, of the freshness of a memory of a line that had once been crossed, Michael felt himself drawn towards his brother. He leaned forward, bending down slightly while his hand cradled Lucifer’s cheek. He hovered there, his own indecisiveness alien to him. But Lucifer had always been the impatient sort, at least, whenever it came to Michael and so he made the decision for his brother. He grabbed Michael by the front of his jacket and pulled him in for the kiss.

Michael literally fell into the kiss. That’s what kissing Lucifer had always been like – falling, losing himself, being led astray. Michael had tried so hard to keep his brother on the right path but everything about Lucifer was temptation. He wanted Michael to stray from the path too. And as the kiss deepened, as Michael felt Lucifer’s hands snake up his back under his jacket and pull him down, he knew that he was straying farther and farther away from the path once more. This kiss was different. Better. More poignant. It was filled with more love and loss than Michael remembered and he knew that it had to do with their vessels. The love that the Winchesters had for each other was seeping through the kiss as if their souls were touching in that one moment. It was overwhelming. Michael broke the kiss, his right hand on his brother’s heart as he held Lucifer at arm’s length. He could see the same wonder in Lucifer’s eyes. Even Lucifer had not anticipated that outcome. They were both breathing heavily. It was such a human reaction.

Lucifer placed his hand over Michael’s. “Join me,” he said. “We can have this again.”

The spell was broken.

Michael leaned forward once more, touching his forehead to Lucifer’s. He gripped Lucifer’s hand tightly.

“Let me show you what I remember.”

* * * * *

It was night. The archangels were standing opposite each other in the middle of an empty street in a quiet neighborhood. A streetlight a little distance away was the only light source. Behind Michael was a darkened house. 

It was Michael’s turn to ask, “Do you know where we are?”

Lucifer inwardly grimaced. He knew precisely where they were. More importantly, he knew when they were. He had to give his brother credit for fishing this painful memory from the recesses of Dean’s mind. It demonstrated that when he wanted to be, Michael was equally adept at the psychological games. Not everything about his older brother relied on brute strength.

“We’re outside another one of the Winchester houses,” Lucifer supplied.

“And do you know what makes this night significant?”

Lucifer remained silent.

“This is the night Sam left for Stanford.”

The finality of the statement hung heavily between them.

“Sam was fed up,” Michael continued. “He and John had had a screaming match of epic proportions while Dean had stood silently in between them, unable and unwilling to choose a side. He loved them both so much. It broke his heart to see his family torn apart like that. And he was helpless – helpless to prevent it, helpless to make either his brother or his father see sense. Neither John nor Sam knew the meaning of the word ‘compromise.’”

“That word is rarely in Dean’s vocabulary as well,” Lucifer quietly interjected.

“Not when it comes to family,” Michael lashed back. “There is **nothing** more important to Dean than family.”

Michael’s eyes were blazing in the darkness and Lucifer felt a tiny kernel of fear settle in the pit of his stomach. Michael’s wrath was truly a sight to behold and Lucifer could sense it bubbling beneath the surface of his brother’s calm veneer. He was losing control of the situation and would have to act.

“But that’s not how things ended between them,” Lucifer quickly said.

Michael only knew what Dean felt, what Dean thought. Lucifer had to share with him what Sam had experienced, how painful it had been for the younger Winchester to walk away from the brother he loved.

“It ended on this street,” Michael said, his voice now deathly calm. “Where we are standing right now.”

“It ended like this,” Lucifer corrected, holding Michael’s face in both his hands and touching his forehead to his brother’s.

* * * * *

“Sam! Sam, wait!” 

Sam took a deep breath and tried to calm himself before turning around. He gripped his duffel bag tighter as he slowed down to allow Dean to catch up to him.

“I can’t take anymore of this,” were his opening words when he could finally face his brother. They were standing in the middle of the street in front of their house. It was thirty minutes past midnight.

“So, you’re gonna leave? Just like that?” Dean questioned, hands on his hips. Sam wished his brother didn’t look quite so confrontational.

“C’mon, Dean,” Sam said, the fatigue suddenly hitting him hard. “You knew this was bound to happen. I know you could see it coming. I have a **scholarship** , for Christ’s sakes. To Stanford. It’s a full ride. I want to do something else with my life. Something normal.”

“There is no **normal** for people like us,” Dean said with a coldness that chilled Sam. “Once you’ve seen what we’ve seen, once you know what we know, there’s no going back to normal.”

“I can try,” Sam said. “It’s worth it to try.” He was pleading now, pleading with Dean to understand.

“All you’re doing Sammy is running away,” Dean replied. “You’re running away from family, from the people who need you.” He paused. “From the people who **love** you,” he added in a softer tone.

Sam thought he would cry then, cry like a baby in front of the big brother who had always looked out for him, the brother he loved like no one else. Dean was the only thing standing between him and a world of possibility. Sam had always secretly hoped that Dean would come with him, that they’d leave this fucked up life together. He couldn’t imagine life without his brother. But hunting was all Dean knew – and god, he was turning out to be a great hunter – and most of all, hunting meant family. Dean’s loyalty to their father was unshakeable. It was a character trait that Sam both loathed and admired. What had John Winchester ever done to deserve such undying devotion from his sons? And yet, if Dean were forced to choose between him and their father, Sam knew that he would lose. This was that moment.

“You could come with me,” Sam said, his voice sounding small and uncertain to himself. He didn’t know what sort of reaction he was expecting from Dean, but the short, hard laugh that he heard was like a punch in the gut.

“And do what?” Dean asked.

Sam didn’t know and Dean didn’t give him any time to answer.

“I don’t run away,” Dean said flatly. “I know where my place is, what my responsibilities are. They’re here.”

“You mean they’re with Dad,” Sam accused.

For a brief moment, Dean looked like he’d been hit with the same bone-numbing fatigue that had come over Sam, but his voice was measured and his expression was calm when he spoke again. “If you want to put it that way, yes. They’re with Dad.”

A heavy silence fell between them. The decision had been made. Sam had always known that it could never be any other way. He studied what he could see of his sneakers in the darkness before looking up at Dean.

“I have to go,” he said quietly.

“Where are you going?” Dean asked with a hint of exasperation. “It’s past midnight.”

“It’s a long walk to the bus terminal,” Sam replied.

“You’re going to walk to the bus terminal? It’s closed.” Dean paused. “Come back inside,” he said. “You can leave in the morning.”

Sam shook his head stubbornly. “I’m not stepping foot back in that house.” What he really meant was, I’m not stepping foot back in that house **with Dad.**

Dean studied him for a moment before turning around and walking away. Sam watched dumbfounded as Dean entered the house. The screen door rattled behind him, but he didn’t close the main door. Sam stood uncertainly in the street. Was this really it? Was this Dean’s way of saying good-bye? He waited several long seconds, but Dean didn’t reappear. He aimlessly kicked the asphalt once and looked at the front door again. No sign of his brother. He turned and began his long walk to the bus terminal.

Sam didn’t get very far before he heard the sound of a car coming up the road behind him. He considered hitching a ride, but decided against it. He wanted to walk. But the driver clearly had other ideas as Sam heard the vehicle slow down as it approached him. He tried to clamp down on the hope that was flaring inside him. When he was finally brave enough, he looked to his left and was greeted by the familiar sight of the sleek black lines of the Impala. Dean was driving.

“Get in,” his brother said, stopping the car.

Sam didn’t need to be told twice. He got in the car, looking at Dean in surprise and confusion. “Where are we going?” he asked.

Dean was looking straight ahead as he shifted the gears. “I’m driving you to the terminal,” he answered.

That’s what Dean said, but that’s not where they ended up. At least, not straight away. Somewhere between Oak Street and Pine, Dean made a left and soon they were parked in a field near the woods. There was no one around for miles. Dean had hardly turned the engine off before Sam wordlessly slid over and eased himself into his brother’s lap. Dean couldn’t speak after that since Sam was kissing him, a full open-mouthed kiss that hinted too much of desperation. Sam was stripping both of them, hurriedly unbuttoning shirts and unzipping jeans. Dean caught both of Sam’s wrists and held them behind his brother’s back. Sam resisted only for a moment. He could sense that Dean wanted to take it slow and if Sam didn’t comply, Dean would maddeningly draw everything out to the point of torture. He’d done it before. Sam kept his breath even as Dean leaned forward and placed a kiss on his bare chest. He stayed still as his brother mapped his chest with his lips, working his way to one of Sam’s nipples. Dean suckled it, his tongue drawing lazy circles on the taut nub. Sam squirmed then, rolling his hips against his brother’s, feeling his erection chafe in the confines of his jeans.

“Dean, please,” he whispered. Sam wasn’t above begging.

Dean must’ve taken some pity on him because he released his brother’s wrists. Sam took the opportunity to cup his brother’s face in both his hands and draw Dean into a deep kiss. He didn’t want his brother’s lips anywhere else but on his. He thought he could swallow Dean whole.

As consumed as Sam was by the kiss, he could feel Dean’s hands on his body, working their way downwards until fingers were pulling on his half unzipped jeans, slipping inside and cupping him through his boxers. Sam pushed into the warmth, rubbing himself against Dean’s hand. He was making a mess of things, leaking into his boxers and wetting the fabric. He could have come right then but that’s not how he wanted things to end. He broke the kiss and looked Dean in the eye. He didn’t see any of the desperation he felt reflected there. Dean’s eyes were warm and filled with so much love. It could have been just any other night and any other time, not the night that Sam was abandoning him, not the last night that they might be together like this. Sam didn’t realize he was crying until he felt Dean’s fingers brush away the wetness on his cheek.

“Backseat,” Dean instructed quietly.

They shifted into the backseat of the Impala, leaving what was left of their clothes in a jumbled mess on the car floor. Sam quickly got on his hands and knees. His desperation was rising again, together with his need to be touched. His skin tingled from the cool night air and he shifted restlessly, trying to make contact with his brother. He wanted Dean to fuck him hard, to grip his hips so tightly that there would be bruises in the morning. If this was going to be their last time together, Sam wanted to remember it with physical pain so that he could carry that pain with him. He wanted to be sore when he walked, to ache when he sat down. He wanted his every movement to remind him of Dean. He wanted his brother to leave his mark. But Dean had other ideas. He was gentle and patient, one hand smoothly stroking Sam’s cock to keep his brother occupied, while the other stretched and prepared him. Sam was too far gone to appreciate his brother’s efforts. All he wanted was a good, hard fuck followed by another and then another.

Dean finally got the message when Sam pushed back on his invading fingers viciously, the sudden deep motion sparking a jolt of pleasure as Dean came into contact with Sam’s prostrate. Sam heard his brother let out a low, throaty growl and knew that Dean’s patience had just reached its limit. A moment later, he felt Dean behind him, his brother’s cock pushing into him and his mind screamed, **At last!** Dean may have been gentle with the preparations, but he was rarely gentle when it came to pace and this time was not the exception. His rhythm was quick. It was a rhythm that Sam was used to and he easily matched his brother. Sam never felt closer to Dean than at these moments, when their bodies were in sync, when their hearts were racing, when the smell of sweat and arousal filled his senses. Sam knew he wouldn’t last. He could already feel his climax building in the trembling of his thighs and he knew that Dean knew it too. Suddenly, the arm wrapped around his waist moved up his body and lifted him so that his back was flush against Dean’s chest. He let his head fall back against Dean’s shoulder, his hands grappling for some sort of leverage. His left hand found the driver’s seat of the Impala, while his right hand braced against the backseat. He felt exposed like this, almost spread-eagled in the back of the car.

“Come for me,” Dean whispered in his ear.

That command was all it took for Sam’s body to convulse as he shot his load into Dean’s hand. Dean kept going, even as Sam felt the aftershocks of his orgasm go through him. It was becoming difficult to stay upright and Sam let Dean support him as his brother worked towards his own climax. A few moments later, he felt Dean jerk and the wetness that filled him surprised him as they both fell forwards onto the backseat. It was the only time Dean had not used protection.

“You okay, Sammy?” Dean asked, already lifting himself off his brother.

Sam nodded, unsure if Dean could see the gesture. He lay boneless on the backseat of the car, wishing that Dean had stayed for a while longer. He loved the weight of his brother on top of him. It was something he would miss, but already Dean was cleaning them up with a cloth that he had produced from somewhere. Even in this, his brother took care of him.

 


	2. The Battle in Hell

Banner by [Mashimero](http://mashimero.livejournal.com).

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v300/ciel_en_rouge/Supernatural%20Artwork/?action=view&current=SoonToBeDustBanner.jpg)

Lucifer’s heart was still racing, the adrenaline rush of Sam’s memory imprinted in his mind, the tingling sensation fresh on his skin as though Michael had just touched him. He was so caught up in the heat and emotional impact of the memory that he didn’t notice that the memory did not have the same effect on his brother. A white-hot flame glowed in the periphery of his vision and Lucifer realized almost too late that Michael had drawn his sword once more. He brought up his left hand, barely managing to catch Michael’s wrist in order to deflect the blow. With his other arm, he locked his brother in a tight embrace but Michael was one step ahead and Lucifer felt a searing hot pain blooming in his chest again. They were falling back to earth. Their landing knocked the wind out of Lucifer. His ribs were crushed by the impact and he focused his energies on repairing his vessel before Michael struck again.   
  
Michael was already on his feet, his blade drawn. He was standing within the crater that their landing had made in the clearing of Stull Cemetery where they had fought before. Patiently, he waited as Lucifer rose to his feet. His expression was grim as Lucifer turned to face him, his blade glinting with its ethereal light.  
  
The ground beneath their feet was unnaturally smooth, the fine dust of the cemetery earth swirling with the winds about them. Outside the crater, the cemetery had been ravaged by the twisters that had passed through. Headstones were broken, trees unearthed, the debris carried by the tornadoes was left strewn about in their wake. The sky was a fierce gray. The storm they had left had not abated and their return only seemed to exacerbate it. In moments, fat rain droplets began to fall.  
  
Lucifer felt the first hint of resignation creep inside him. He had never truly believed that it would end this way. He had had too much faith in his own ability to seduce his brother, and in Michael’s willingness to be seduced. Yet the shared reliving of Sam’s memory of that rebellious and fateful night had not brought out the desired reaction in Michael. Instead of empathizing with Sam’s, and consequently, Lucifer’s loss and desperation, the memory had provoked raw anger from his brother. Vaguely, Lucifer wondered if this anger was also an offshoot of Dean’s anger at Sam. Lucifer had not anticipated how visceral inhabiting his true vessel would be, how in tune he was with the younger Winchester and he suspected that Michael was undergoing the same experience with Dean.  
  
“It’s time to end this, brother.”  
  
Michael’s voice was low, but Lucifer heard it cut clearly through the storm. He nodded.  
  
The wind seemed to be at Michael’s back and for the briefest moment, Lucifer saw the shadow outline of his brother’s magnificent wings outstretched behind him. He knew then that Michael was summoning the forces of nature to his will. He did the same. Michael wielded the wind, the air and the rain, but Lucifer was fire and earth and as their swords clashed, their power and strength seemed as though it would rend the earth in two.  
  
As before, Lucifer could feel his brother overpowering him through sheer force. If he was going to lose, he was going to take as much of this godforsaken planet and its protozoan inhabitants with him. Let Michael and his followers decide whether to rebuild heaven on earth. But before that happened, Lucifer had one more card to play. Behind him was a great oak tree that had remained unscathed by the storms and tornados, and for good reason. An urban legend surrounded Stull Cemetery. The locals believed that the cemetery was a gateway to Hell. The legend made for excellent propaganda every Halloween, when the nightly hayrides would journey past the cemetery. But all legend bore some basis in truth, and little did the residents of Stull, Kansas know that their cemetery was indeed a gateway to Hell, if only one knew how to open the door.  
  
The Devil knew how to open that door.  
  
Lucifer maneuvered his way closer to the great oak, allowing Michael to drive him towards the ancient tree. He had no doubt that his brother knew that the oak was a portal to Hell, but he counted on the belief that that fact was not at the forefront of Michael’s thoughts. No, Michael was focused on destroying him and the great oak was of no importance, not even when Michael had him pinned against it, his sword at Lucifer’s throat.  
  
“I am sorry,” Michael said, looking Lucifer straight in the eye.  
  
“I am not,” Lucifer replied defiantly.  
  
There was a split second for Lucifer to make his move as Michael lifted his sword to thrust it into his throat. His timing was perfect. He ducked and Michael’s blade pierced the trunk of the oak instead. A thick red sap oozed from the tree as though it were bleeding. Michael’s sword was jammed and the giant oak seemed to be pulling it in. His brother held on to it, unwilling to let it go even as Lucifer came up behind him. Michael lashed out with one of his wings, but it was too late. Lucifer was locking him in another embrace, whispering in his ear: “Welcome to **my** home, brother.”  
  
Then it was Michael’s turn to fall.  
  


* * * * *

Heat warmed his face. Dust filled his nostrils. The jagged edge of rocks scratched his cheek. Michael opened his eyes to a vertical horizon of red and orange mixed with a cool slate gray. As his vision sharpened, he realized that he was lying down, the heat emanating from the rock floor on which he lay and the air around him. In the distance, the sky burned with the unfamiliar flames of vermillion and burnished gold. Michael thought it was beautiful even as he processed that these were the eternal flames of Hell. He tried to stand up but was unexpectedly weighted down. The weight came from his wings, which had remained uncloaked as he and Lucifer had fallen to Hell. He shifted them now, the motion generating a flow of warm air as he stood up. He sensed rather than saw his brother standing somewhere towards his right. He turned. There was Lucifer, casually leaning against the stonewall of a cliff. 

Michael made no effort to cloak his wings. Instead, he stretched them out, revealing them in all their glory. He watched as Lucifer followed the motion with his eyes and then Michael gently folded his wings behind him, allowing them to rest against his back. There was no point in attempting to hide his grace in Hell. There was a buzz in the air, a constant murmuring of voices that was not unlike the Song of Heaven. But an angel could never mistake the cries in Hell to be the Song. The inhabitants of the Underworld were agitated. They knew that a stranger was among them, a great and powerful stranger, just like they knew that their king had returned.

The two archangels stood motionless until Lucifer broke the spell between them. He gracefully lifted himself off the rock face and strode towards his brother.

“Destruction has its own kind of beauty,” he stated. “Desolation as well.”

He turned from Michael and swept his hand over the vast expanse that lay before them. They were standing on top of a promontory and below them Michael’s keen eyes could make out the architecture of his brother’s domain.

“You would transform our Father’s creation into this?” he questioned.

“I would **purify** it,” Lucifer corrected. “Hell on earth,” he mused. “For most humans, it exists already.”

Michael’s eyes roamed the tortured landscape before him once more. His brother was right. Earth had become a metaphorical Hell for many of his Father’s children. Humans were endlessly creative when it came to crafting their own personal Hells. Heaven seemed almost boring by comparison. But a metaphorical Hell was very different from the literal fire and brimstone that Lucifer would unleash upon the planet should he win.

“Why have you brought me here?” Michael asked after a moment’s silence.

“Quid pro quo,” Lucifer answered lightly. “You brought me to your home. Why can’t I bring you to mine?”

The sharp look that Michael gave his brother told Lucifer that Michael didn’t believe his answer for a moment.

“I’m renewing my offer,” Lucifer stated.

Michael fixed his gaze on his younger brother. His expression had again grown hard. “You only delay the inevitable,” he replied coldly. Then he sighed, flexing his wings – a sign of irritation that Lucifer recognized – as he turned back to face Hell’s landscape. “I’m tired of your games. Why won’t you allow this to end?”

“Why won’t you take my offer seriously?” Lucifer asked in return.

There was the quick snap of a wing and Lucifer approached his brother cautiously. “You think that being with me is a sin,” he said quietly. “But what makes it so? Because Father says so? Father abandoned this world a long, long time ago. You follow a script as though everything were pre-destined but we write our own destinies now.”

Lucifer paused, trying to gauge the reaction of his brother. Michael was completely still, his arms crossed in front of his chest. His brother’s apparent calm concerned Lucifer somewhat, but he persevered.

“Nothing is a sin here,” he whispered, standing behind Michael. “There is no one to see. Heaven’s eyes don’t penetrate into Hell. How can our love be a sin?”

The force with which Lucifer was slammed against the rock face of the cliff didn’t surprise him. Neither did the hand that held him by his throat, the strong fingers threatening to squeeze the life out of him. Michael had spread his wings once more and their full height and span hid them completely.

Despite himself, Lucifer let out a low chuckle that was quickly silenced by the tightening of his brother’s fingers on his throat. Lucifer’s eyes burned with a knowing look and prevented from speaking, he projected his thoughts into his brother’s mind.

**“Is this your Wrath, Michael?”** he teased. **“Is that Lust I see in your eyes?”**

The grip around Lucifer’s neck tightened even more.

**“Kiss me.”**

The kiss was bruising and Lucifer relished it. It was a clash of teeth and tongue, of the metallic taste of iron and blood. The hand around his neck was not removed, but the grip was loosened so that he could better participate. He did so by following his brother’s lead, hands roaming his brother’s body, pulling Michael against him. Just when Lucifer thought he had control of the situation, Michael pulled away, holding him at arm’s length.

“Show me your wings,” Michael said steadily.

Lucifer was taken aback by the command. He hesitated, and he knew that Michael could read his uncertainty. It had been millennia since Lucifer had revealed his wings. There had been no point, trapped as he had been in the Cage. He had felt like less than an angel during his imprisonment, the impotence of his confines serving to build a reservoir of anger and rage over the centuries. From that stronghold he had fashioned Hell, twisted souls, created demons, built an army that would serve him. But it was not enough. It could never be enough. He wanted vengeance and retribution. He would destroy the Family that had turned their backs on him. He would not acknowledge his roots and so he had come to be known as the Devil. Humans often forgot that the Devil was a Fallen Angel; a dark, avenging angel. But Michael had not forgotten. His brother watched him with his piercing gaze, with a full understanding of what he was asking. Now it was Michael’s turn to lean forward and whisper in his ear.

“You claim that I deny myself,” he said, his voice silky and smooth in Lucifer’s ear. “But you deny yourself even more. Show me your wings.”

Lucifer saw the challenge in Michael’s eyes. He no longer knew when his brother had gained the upper hand, but he would not back down from the challenge.

* * * * *

Michael watched as Lucifer unfurled his wings. Wings were perceived as a sign of status among angels. The more magnificent one’s wings, the higher one’s ranking in God’s assembly. As the Prince of the Heavenly Host, no one could rival Michael’s wings save perhaps his fallen brother. Contrary to most religious imagery depicting angels’ wings as pure and white, the color of the wings ranged from cream and beige to darker shades of tan, brown and gray, going all the way to deep sepia and black. Lucifer was the only angel to possess a set of pure black wings and when the light fell on them, they rippled like water at midnight. Michael could still remember a time when he stood beside his brother, their wings in stark contrast to each other marking them both as Heaven’s favored sons. If he was going to succumb to his base desires in his brother’s den of temptation, then he would see those wings again. He would have Lucifer only in his true form.   
  
Lucifer stretched his wings behind him, laying them flat against the expanse of the cliff face. They were exactly as Michael remembered, the black feathers mirroring the jet-black sky that was Heaven’s dome. It was a strange sight to see his brother lost and exposed in his own kingdom. Michael leaned forward then, kissing Lucifer with a tenderness that was far removed from his previous kiss. He wanted that kiss to convey all the things that his actions never could, to share with his brother all the things that he could never bring himself to say. Lucifer responded in the same manner, and for long moments the two of them were lost in that deepening kiss.  
  
Michael allowed Lucifer to reverse their positions, until he was the one leaning against the cliff face. He watched as his brother got on his knees before him, the lower half of his wings carpeting the rocky floor. Lucifer had already divested him of his shirt and now his brother’s deft fingers were removing his belt. Michael let his head fall back. He focused on the unfamiliar sight of Hell’s fiery red sky as Lucifer pulled down the zipper of his jeans. He shut eyes. He could let the world burn, he thought, to have this for eternity.  


**No. Not like this.**

Hands were pushing down his jeans and boxers, freeing his cock.

**Michael! Not like this!**

Michael’s eyes flew open. Lost in the haze of his brother’s ministrations, he had thought that voice to be his own spark of conscience railing against him. As the dull throb in the back of his head grew stronger, he realized that it was something else entirely.

* * * * *

Jimmy Novak had once said that being possessed by Castiel was like being chained to the back of a comet. Dean had never forgotten that description. Just like he had never forgotten Donnie Finnerman, a simple mechanic who had had the misfortune of being the archangel, Raphael’s vessel. In his mind’s eye, he saw Donnie sitting in his wheelchair, a vegetable to the world once Raphael had left his body. “It will be much worse for you,” Castiel had told him as they had both watched Donnie. “Michael is far more powerful.”

Dean had no basis of comparison, but he knew in some way that Michael was taking care of him. The archangel had promised as much when he had spoken to Dean during their time traveling stint to stop Anna from killing his parents. He had no faith in angels, save for Castiel, but Michael was staying true to his word. He was still conscious in his body, but he had absolutely no control. He was trapped in a white room with no windows or doors or any kind of exit. He had shouted and pounded the walls with his fists at first, but all he had succeeded in doing was making himself hoarse and his hands sore. Then he had paced and paced until finally a simple bed had appeared in the center of the room, the kind of bed one saw in army barracks or prison wards. Dean had nothing else to do but to lie down.

As he stretched out as best as he could on the single bed, a strange thing happened. He heard voices speaking. Michael and Lucifer were talking to each other and Dean was privy to their conversation. Then Michael was talking to him, probing his memories for important details from his childhood that Dean didn’t want to give up. Dean resisted and Michael was irate. The bed he was lying on suddenly split in two and Dean landed on the floor with a thud. He got up and walked to one of the walls of the room. He sat down, using the wall as a backrest, his legs stretched out before him. There was nothing to do but wait. The problem was, Dean didn’t know what he was waiting for.

Occasionally, the light source in the room flickered although there were no actual lights per se, at least, none that Dean could see. Once the room went completely dark and when the light returned, Dean thought that the room had grown a bit warmer. After a little while, he removed his jacket. He kept on waiting.

Suddenly, the lights turned a deep red and the once well-lit room became very dark. Dean stood up. He could sense danger and his instincts were on high alert. Through the hazy red light, he thought he saw a door at the opposite end of the room. He walked towards it. Yes, it was definitely a door, one that had not been there before. Dean grasped the doorknob. To his surprise, it turned but he didn’t open the door. Not yet. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was on the other side. It was the thought of Sam and of somehow helping his brother that pushed Dean to step through that door.

The door opened into a poorly lit hallway. Dean understood immediately that he was leaving the safety of ‘his’ room behind. While everything in the previous room had been marked by silence, by a kind of tranquility save for that one burst of conversation between the two archangels followed by Michael’s own probing questions, everything outside was an onslaught of sensory experience. It was almost overwhelming. Dean could hear more voices, those of Michael and Lucifer’s; he could hear Sam and even himself. Then there were the other voices, the multitude of whispers and cries that Dean couldn’t decipher. There was the smell of smoke and burning flesh that made the hairs on his arms rise. Instinctively, he knew that there was something familiar about these sensations as though he had experienced them before. They were too close to the memories in a dark part of his own mind that he tried to keep locked away. But the strong feelings of anger, lust, rage and desire that were coursing through him were not part of his memories, they weren’t even his feelings. They belonged to Michael and this poorly lit hallway was all that stood between him and the full force of the archangel’s grace. The farther down Dean walked, the stronger the emotions became until one emotion rose above them all: desire. Dean had never felt such unparalleled desire for anything or anyone. It made his own cock harden. The light that leaked from underneath and the sides of the closed doors that he passed, grew brighter and brighter until it threatened to burst open the doors with its force. Michael was in trouble. Dean knew it from the desire that was sweeping over him like a tidal wave. Michael had given in to Lucifer’s seduction and the Devil would win this war.

“No,” he said aloud, stopping in the hallway. “Not like this.” He took a deep breath, his legs trembling as though someone were stroking his cock.

“Michael!” he yelled. “Not like this!”

* * * * *

The warmth on his face and the heaviness of the air that he breathed were nothing compared to the heat in his groin. Dean looked down and was jarred by the sight. There was the familiar head of his brother, who was kneeling before him, Sam’s hands and mouth working their magic on his cock. But there was also the unfamiliar sight of jet-black wings rising from his brother’s back, covering the ground where Sam was kneeling.

“Sam,” he said aloud, even though he knew full well that it was not Sam pleasuring him. “Sam,” he said again.

There was a brief pause in Lucifer’s actions, but then he renewed his efforts with greater force.

Dean managed to lean forward and yank his brother by the hair, tearing him away from his aching cock. “Sam,” he said, looking steadily into his brother’s eyes. “I know you’re in there.”

Dean thought he saw a glint of recognition in his brother for a moment, but he knew he was mistaken when Lucifer got to his feet, his imposing wings spread behind him. The Devil had never better personified the dark avenging angel than at this moment and Dean felt dwarfed by the shadow of the great wings and the power he could feel emanating from Lucifer. They were in Hell. He had suspected it before but now he knew it for certain. He had to find a way to beat the Devil in his own domain.

“Dean?” Lucifer questioned, a smile curving his lips. “Is that you?”

Dean’s defiant glare confirmed that it was and Lucifer’s smile turned into a sparkling laugh.

“My brother surprises me,” he told Dean, leaning forward and placing his right hand behind Dean’s neck. “Did you know,” he continued, lips hovering just above Dean’s, “that if I kill you, I kill Michael as well? He makes it too easy.”

Lucifer pressed their lips together and Dean felt the bile rising in his throat from the unwanted kiss. He kept his mouth tightly shut and without quite realizing what he was doing, he balled his right hand into a fist and punched Lucifer in the gut. At any other time, he would have smashed all the bones in his hand with such an action, but to his shock, he hit Lucifer with enough force that the archangel staggered backwards, letting go of him. So, he had control of his body but he had Michael’s strength as well. Perhaps he would be able to beat the Devil after all.

Dean lifted himself off the rock face and had the presence of mind to tuck himself in and zip up his jeans. He still felt half-naked without his shirt, but there were much bigger concerns to worry about.

“Dean,” Lucifer chastised. “That wasn’t very nice.”

“Sam,” Dean replied, ignoring Lucifer. “I know you’re in there. You have to fight him.”

Lucifer laughed again. “Sorry, Dean,” he said mockingly. “Sam can’t come out to play.”

“Sam!” Dean yelled. “I know you can hear me. Fight him, dammit!”

The smile vanished from Lucifer’s face. “This is growing tiresome, Dean,” he said. “If this is how Michael wants to end it, then so be it.”

Dean barely had time to move out of the way before Lucifer slashed at him with a burning sword. **Where the hell had that come from?** was the thought forming in his mind, but before it could be completed a flaming sword had materialized in his right hand. He parried the next blow easily even though he was hardly an expert swordsman. He was reacting from instinct as much as from Michael’s guidance.

As the fight continued, the clash of their swords reverberated through Hell’s pathways, drawing the attention of the Underworld’s inhabitants. The red sky was soon speckled with black as a throng of winged demons circled the promontory above them. Dean ignored the fact that he was severely outnumbered and in enemy territory. The foremost thought in his mind was reaching Sam. It was the only chance he had.

“Sam,” he pleaded, as Lucifer pushed him against the rock face. “I need your help. Fight him! You have to fight him!”

The plea only infuriated Lucifer more and his eyes flashed with a fire that mirrored his surroundings. “Your brother is dead,” he hissed, lifting his sword to strike the final blow. “Sam can’t help you now.”

Dean shielded himself from a blow that never came. Instead, Lucifer stumbled, his grip loosening so that his sword fell on the ground. He clutched his head with his hands.

“No,” he gasped. “You . . . will . . . not . . .”

“Sam!” Dean said again, stepping towards his brother.

Lucifer dropped to his knees, still clutching his head. Dean watched helplessly as his brother attempted to wrest control over his own body.

“Dean.”

His name came out as a choked, strangled sound. Despite the possibility that this could have been another one of the Devil’s tricks, Dean was immediately on the ground beside his brother.

“Sam?” he asked, one hand on his brother’s shoulder while the other lifted Sam’s face so that he could look into his brother’s eyes. He was greeted with a worrying blankness, but as Sam’s vision focused, Dean recognized the warmth in those brown depths.

“So,” Sam croaked. “This is Hell?”

Dean crushed him in a bear hug. “I knew you could do it,” he said, feeling his brother’s arms wrap around him as well. He had never felt such relief, not even when he had bartered Sam’s life in exchange for his own. “I knew you could beat him.”

“I can’t hold him down for long,” Sam said, when the embrace ended. “He’s too strong. And he’s pissed.”

“My little brother just hogtied the Devil,” Dean couldn’t help but grin.

“And look at you, conquering the Prince of Heaven,” Sam replied with a smile.

Dean was about to say that he didn’t think it was the same thing at all but Sam didn’t give him a chance to speak.

“We have a job to finish,” Sam said seriously.

“Finish what?” Dean questioned. “We’re already in Hell. With an audience,” he added, pointing upwards at the growing number of gargoyle-like demons circling them.

Sam brought out the Horsemen’s rings from his pocket. “The goal’s still the same,” he said. “We still need to open the Cage. We need to lock the Devil inside.”

“You mean Hell isn’t enough?”

“You know it isn’t.”

Dean remained silent but he knew that Sam was right. It had been foolish to hope, but he had held on to it nonetheless. There had to be some way to beat the Devil without sacrificing his brother too. There just **had** to be. But time had run out. Now they were both trapped in Hell, trying to keep their archangels at bay – at least, Sam was – and there was a flock of demons circling above them, curiously watching the goings-on below. How long would it be before they realized that it was Sam and Dean Winchester below them and not the archangels Michael and Lucifer? What would they do then?

Dean looked at the four rings in Sam’s palm. Together they were the key to the Devil’s Cage. When Dean looked up, he saw that Sam had been watching him all that time. His brother held out the rings to him.

“Do it,” Sam said. “There’s no more time.”

“Sam –”

“Do it,” Sam repeated.

**Now, Dean. Now!**

Dean heeded the urgency he heard. He took the rings from his brother just as Sam fell backwards, doubling over as though in pain.

“Dean,” he gasped. “I can’t hold him back. Open –”

Sam didn’t finish his sentence. He let out a bloodcurdling scream that was echoed by the demons above them. As the demonic shrieks filled the air, Dean joined the rings together. They effortlessly locked into place and with a single twist, Dean unlocked the Cage. At first, nothing happened but then the brothers heard and felt a great rumble. The promontory that they were on was opening into a seemingly endless chasm. Dean knew – most likely because Michael knew – that the chasm led to the very center of Hell, that Lucifer’s Cage was the fulcrum on which Hell’s foundation was based. Once, Michael had thrown his brother into that fiery pit and now Dean would do the same.

Dean looked at Sam again. His brother was still lying on the ground now in a fetal position, facing the chasm, watching as it dove deeper and deeper into Hell’s core. Sam’s face was covered in sweat from the effort of keeping Lucifer at bay. He caught Dean watching him and he held out his hand.

“Help me up,” he said.

Dean walked over to his brother and hoisted him up, supporting Sam’s full weight as Sam held on to him. They were standing at the edge of the chasm.

“Don’t you dare go in there with me,” Sam warned him.

Dean smiled faintly. His brother knew him so well.

“You’ll find a way out of here, Dean,” Sam went on. “Go to Lisa and Ben. Leave all this behind and live for both of us. Promise me.”

Dean couldn’t speak so he just nodded.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

* * * * *

Dean had a splitting headache. It would easily qualify as the worst hangover he’d ever had if only he could remember what had happened. He was laying face down on an uneven brambly surface of some sort. The smell of earth was strong. He turned around and was greeted by a canopy of branches through which he could see a vibrant blue sky. Maybe he’d died after all and was back in Heaven.

“Not Heaven,” a voice confirmed.

A face came into view above him and the shock of its recognition caused Dean to bolt upright, hitting his head against the trunk of the great oak that he had been resting on.

“Careful, Dean,” the voice said, irony and amusement playing at the edges of its tone. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

Dean rubbed the back of his head as he settled against the tree trunk, noticing that he was fully clothed again. Crouched opposite him was the hawk-eyed, younger incarnation of John Winchester. “Isn’t this cheating?” he asked, a little venomously.

Michael smiled. “You know we angels aren’t above bending the rules a little,” he replied. “Besides, Adam’s with his mother. It seemed rude to disturb them after all they’ve been through. Don’t you agree? This,” he gestured at his vessel, “is a loan. I’ll return him to his proper time when I’m done.”

Michael stood up and held out a hand to Dean, who eyed the proffered hand warily. Long moments passed before he grasped it and allowed Michael to pull him to his feet.

“You’ve done well,” Michael told him. “For a human.”

Dean loathed the approval he heard in Michael’s voice. “You couldn’t do it,” he lashed out. “You couldn’t kill the Devil and so you passed that responsibility on to me.”

The menace that emanated from Michael at that moment was like a physical force that pushed Dean back as the archangel stepped towards him. “Be careful what you say next,” he warned.

Dean didn’t say anything, aware that he was on dangerous territory.

The menace from Michael faded and Dean wondered at the archangel’s sudden mood swings. It vaguely reminded him of Gabriel.

“I couldn’t be further away from that mischievous prankster,” Michael stated.

“Yeah?” Dean challenged. “Gabriel couldn’t help himself when it came to reading minds either.”

The comment made Michael laugh but when he sobered, he said quietly, “Once, your father told you that you would have to kill Sam if you couldn’t save him.”

Dean tensed at the reminder.

“Could you have obeyed your father’s order?”

“I trapped my brother in a cage in Hell with the Devil,” Dean replied evenly. “Killing him may have been more merciful.”

Michael cocked his head to the right and looked at Dean thoughtfully. “Perhaps,” he agreed, caressing Dean’s right cheek with his fingers. “For a moment, I thought you were going to jump in there with him. I couldn’t let that happen.”

Dean looked away. Michael’s advances made him uncomfortable, even as his skin tingled from the archangel’s touch. “What happens now?” he asked, turning back when he sensed that Michael had given him more space.

The archangel was gazing into the distance, eyes surveying the landscape that had not too long ago been the final battleground.

“We go home,” Michael answered.

Dean felt a hollowness inside him. He was homeless now that Sam was gone.

“Lisa and Ben,” Michael said. “They could be your family too.” He turned to face Dean, his arms crossed in front of him. “Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? A family of your own?”

“It’s a pipe dream.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Michael countered. “We write our own destinies now.”

“Aren’t those Lucifer’s words?”

Michael smiled faintly. “You heard that?”

“I heard a lot of things.”

“I suppose you did.” Michael stepped toward him once more and Dean felt that sense of menace rising again from the archangel as Michael invaded his personal space. “Do not think for a moment that you defeated me,” Michael warned him, his voice low and lethal. “What your brother did? **That** was impressive. But you have said ‘yes,’ to me, Dean. We are linked now. I no longer need your permission to possess you again. You are my **true** vessel and I have plans. There is work to be done.”

Dean was disturbed by Michael’s words. “What kind of work?” he asked.

“All in good time.”

Michael was uncomfortably close again.

“Heaven is in disarray,” he explained. “My brethren are preparing for an apocalypse that will no longer come. It’s time to get everyone back in line.” He paused. “One more thing,” the archangel added. He reached into the pocket of Dean’s jacket and pulled out the Horsemen’s rings. They were still interlocked. Michael disbanded them. “We must make sure,” he said, taking three of the rings and placing them in his own pocket, “that Lucifer’s cage can never be opened again.” He held up the fourth ring. “This one,” he told Dean, “is your responsibility.” He dropped the ring into Dean’s hand before turning to leave.

“Wait,” Dean said.

Michael paused and looked back at him, arching an eyebrow questioningly.

“What about Cas?”

“What about him?”

“He’s . . .” Dean searched for the right words. “He’s becoming human.”

“Castiel turned his back on us. Rebellion must be punished.”

“He’s been punished enough. He’s done so much to help us. We wouldn’t have made it this far without him.”

“Every step Castiel has taken has worked against Heaven. And you could not have come this far,” Michael corrected. “Without **me**. Castiel believes in free will,” Michael went on. “He must live with the consequences of his actions.”

Before Dean could protest further, there was a fierce gust of wind and the archangel was gone.

“Angels,” said another unexpected voice. “They can be such self-righteous pricks.”

Dean started, turning just in time to see Death step out from behind the giant oak tree. “Were you . . . spying?” he asked incredulously.

Death gave him a withering look that made Dean feel very, very small. “I . . . don’t . . . spy,” Death said, enunciating every word carefully. “There’s no need.”

“Of course, not,” Dean hurriedly agreed.

“You have something that belongs to me,” Death continued.

Dean held out Death’s ring. “It was right at the top of my To Do list,” he said.

Death was not amused by the joke and his expression said as much as he slipped his ring back on. “Michael was right about one thing,” he said, turning the ring so it rested just the way he liked it on his finger.

Dean waited for him to continue.

“You did do a good job,” Death went on, looking up at Dean. “For a human.”

“You don’t sound like you had much confidence in our plan,” Dean replied.

“No,” Death agreed. “The outcome never concerned me. I will continue even when all else is dust.” He nodded in the direction of the cemetery’s entrance. “Your friend is waiting for you.”

Dean followed the direction of Death’s gaze. There was his baby, parked at the entrance of the cemetery with a familiar trench coated figure standing by the hood of the car.

“Cas?” he said aloud.

“Good as new,” Death informed him. “Don’t thank me,” he added as Dean grasped his meaning. “I didn’t do it for you. I did it to rankle Michael. The world is a more interesting place when there’s . . . opposition.”

“Thanks anyway,” Dean said.

Death nodded in acknowledgement, and then he too was gone.

Dean stood a while longer under the oak tree that he now knew was a gateway to Hell. Against all odds, they had succeeded in stopping the Apocalypse. They may have saved the planet from destruction, but the personal cost had been high as it always was. Sam was now trapped in the Cage to be tortured at will by the Devil, and he had been turned into Michael’s personal muppet. He dwelled on the outcome of things as he walked across the cemetery to where Castiel was waiting.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel greeted him in his usual fashion.

“Hey, Cas.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

Castiel smiled. “I am very well,” he replied. “I am myself again.”

“That’s good. Real good.”

There was a pause.

“What do we do now?” Castiel inquired.

Dean thought of the promise that he had not quite made to his brother. “We’re gonna find a way to bring Sam back,” he said.

Castiel nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. “We will.”

 

**Fin.**


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